2006/10/10 21:09
Putting the Laughter Back Into Vehicular Manslaughter
My first car was a hand-me-down, an eight-year-old economy coupe with no acceleration. My mom had bought it new, giving her plenty of time to become intimately familiar with the car's inability to get up to speed with anything resembling expediency. This car went zero to 60 in my imagination. So of course, being a mom, she thought it a perfect fit for a seventeen-year-old boy's first vehicle. If I was incapable of reaching the speed limit, after all, I certainly wouldn't be breaking it.
For years, it seemed that my mom's twist of logic worked. I drove for years without ever receiving a traffic ticket. Even after I sold the car I had not-so-affectionately nicknamed "Dammit," the one that followed kept me out of trouble with the law and kept my driving record spic-and-span.
Then I moved to Florida.
Police in Florida are a very different breed of animal than they were in New Mexico. There, they kept their eyes open all the time, enforced the law when they saw it broken, and maintained control. Here, they lull you into a false sense of security, committing the very same infraction in front of you that you will receive a ticket for when they set up a trap in that spot one year later.
Destroying an unblemished twelve-year span, I've gotten two traffic tickets in the sixteen months I've lived in Florida. The first was about a year ago, when my new car proved that not only was it capable of exceeding the speed limit, but that it could do so with gusto and panache and ironic timing. I'd just gotten done flaunting my spotless record to my carpool buddy when the sheriff's deputy stepped into the road some two hundred yards ahead. He tagged me for doing 59 in a 50, even though he'd clocked me at 67. (Luckily, I'd just come down from 75.) To add insult to injury, this speed trap was on Disney property. That's right -- I got a speeding ticket at the Happiest Place on Earth.
About three months ago, I got the second ticket. In a moment of unusually heavy traffic, I followed two cars through a red light, turning right while cross traffic had a left turn arrow. It became clear why we were moving so slow when the officer stepped in front of me (and, please note, not the guy ahead of me). These guys must have some good body armor, because I certainly don't trust Florida drivers enough to bet my life.
The thing is, I was determined to fight this ticket. The first I couldn't refute -- let's face it, on most open straightaways I probably couldn't go any faster if my shoe was made out of lead. But this intersection had a right turn lane, emptying directly into a dedicated merging lane. What's more, there are no signs leading to the intersection stating that I must stop or yield before turning right. Maybe I was technically wrong according to the "law," but I felt I could make a case by pretending to be stupid. I mean, the tag on a cardboard car sun shield that says "Do not drive with sun shield in place" didn't get there by itself. The line on the road and the red light said to stop, Your Honor, but other than that there was no warning.
Unfortunately, as it turns out, I have a conscience. Or maybe I'm just chicken. The court hearing was today, and with the judge, bailiff, and ticketing officer all staring at me, I backed down and pleaded no contest. Basically, this means "I did it, but look how good my driving record is; you totally want to suspend the fine and/or points on my license now."
The points part worked. But next time I gotta wear shabby clothes. God forbid there is a next time, but you never know where the cops will set up their next trap. They might catch me for backing out of my driveway without a valid handgun. This is Florida, after all.
For years, it seemed that my mom's twist of logic worked. I drove for years without ever receiving a traffic ticket. Even after I sold the car I had not-so-affectionately nicknamed "Dammit," the one that followed kept me out of trouble with the law and kept my driving record spic-and-span.
Then I moved to Florida.
Police in Florida are a very different breed of animal than they were in New Mexico. There, they kept their eyes open all the time, enforced the law when they saw it broken, and maintained control. Here, they lull you into a false sense of security, committing the very same infraction in front of you that you will receive a ticket for when they set up a trap in that spot one year later.
Destroying an unblemished twelve-year span, I've gotten two traffic tickets in the sixteen months I've lived in Florida. The first was about a year ago, when my new car proved that not only was it capable of exceeding the speed limit, but that it could do so with gusto and panache and ironic timing. I'd just gotten done flaunting my spotless record to my carpool buddy when the sheriff's deputy stepped into the road some two hundred yards ahead. He tagged me for doing 59 in a 50, even though he'd clocked me at 67. (Luckily, I'd just come down from 75.) To add insult to injury, this speed trap was on Disney property. That's right -- I got a speeding ticket at the Happiest Place on Earth.
About three months ago, I got the second ticket. In a moment of unusually heavy traffic, I followed two cars through a red light, turning right while cross traffic had a left turn arrow. It became clear why we were moving so slow when the officer stepped in front of me (and, please note, not the guy ahead of me). These guys must have some good body armor, because I certainly don't trust Florida drivers enough to bet my life.
The thing is, I was determined to fight this ticket. The first I couldn't refute -- let's face it, on most open straightaways I probably couldn't go any faster if my shoe was made out of lead. But this intersection had a right turn lane, emptying directly into a dedicated merging lane. What's more, there are no signs leading to the intersection stating that I must stop or yield before turning right. Maybe I was technically wrong according to the "law," but I felt I could make a case by pretending to be stupid. I mean, the tag on a cardboard car sun shield that says "Do not drive with sun shield in place" didn't get there by itself. The line on the road and the red light said to stop, Your Honor, but other than that there was no warning.
Unfortunately, as it turns out, I have a conscience. Or maybe I'm just chicken. The court hearing was today, and with the judge, bailiff, and ticketing officer all staring at me, I backed down and pleaded no contest. Basically, this means "I did it, but look how good my driving record is; you totally want to suspend the fine and/or points on my license now."
The points part worked. But next time I gotta wear shabby clothes. God forbid there is a next time, but you never know where the cops will set up their next trap. They might catch me for backing out of my driveway without a valid handgun. This is Florida, after all.
